The First Step
by Shahrezad1
Summary: Sometimes the hardest part is taking that first step. Vanellope knows this, but can't help but worry. So a new friend decides to give her that push and a fondant relationship develops. Mostly a Friendship Fic. VanellopeXExisting Video Game Character.


The First Step

By Shahrezad1

Summary: Sometimes the hardest part is taking that first step. Vanellope knows this, but can't help but worry. So a new friend decides to give her that push and a fondant relationship develops. Mostly a Friendship Fic. VanellopeXExisting Video Game Character.

Disclaimer: I own nothing that Disney or Midway own. Ye ken?

~/~/~

It wasn't that Vanellope was afraid.

No one would dare say that, neither behind her back nor to her face. For having their memories restored had settled that whole issue dead in its tracks. But the fact of the matter was…

That she really _was_ afraid. Just as afraid of success as she was of failure, really.

After all, _Sugar Rush_ was her _home_; she knew it in her gooey gut. And sure, it had been a _reluctant_ home for a good, solid fifteen years, but now it was hers by _choice_. So she really didn't feel the need to leave…

To risk her respawnable lives by…stepping outside.

Who knew if she even could? She'd definitely embraced her awesomely epic, glitchy side at this point. But if it was still going to get the way of her leaving then why should she even try? What was the point?

The question rumbled and jumbled around in her head like so many gumballs as the petite princess stared at her game's barrier. It seemed innocuous enough, a doorway with a sarcastic edge—just like what she would have chosen, herself. And beyond it was a little train, perfect for fun-size players.

But she just…couldn't…

Anxiety twisted round and round her middle like knotted licorice and her feet felt like they'd been caramelized to the floor. Even her hand was shaking as she stretched forward, as solid a movement as cotton candy in the breeze.

Any other effort forward was halted, however, as the whir of metal gears shifting caught her ear. And then she was dodging away in the effort not to get mowed over. A bike screeched to a halt where she had just stood moments before, the rider coming to a temporary stop with one foot flat on the ground and the other in place upon sturdy metal pedals.

He shifted his cap from forward-facing to its opposite, the bill aimed behind him, and idly he shrugged a clipboard out of one of the canvas bags hanging off the front of his ride. A smaller basket clung to the handlebars, making the girl wonder just which was originally installed and which was an addition he'd made with time.

He jutted out his chin at her as the clipboard was dropped down to her level, the President's view impeded by the fact that she was now on hands and knees, "you Von Schwartz?"

"Von _Schweetz_," _you dummy_, she wanted to add, nearly growling with anger. But that wasn't the kind of thing Princesses, much less _Presidents_, did and therefore it was bitten back like so many spicy War Heads.

"Whatever," he muttered and shoved a pen into her hand, "got a letter for you. Sign on the dotted line."

She scowled up at him, ignoring the leap that occurred somewhere in her ribcage. A letter? For _her_? How completely and utterly surprising! How was she to respond? Who could it be from?

"Who sent it?" was her blurted demand, but the boy only shrugged an apathetic look her way.

"How should I know? It's your letter, not mine. Just sign on the dotted line already."

Desiring to scratch his eyes out with her adorable little nails, she snatched up the board instead and scribbled out her name in full, with as many flourishes as she could possibly fit in the small space. The lad didn't even look at it, however, and shoved the thing back into its place with nary a glance, instead yanking out a letter that was nearly the size of her head.

Vanellope frowned, "well, aren't you gonna check it?"

His next shrug was elegant, "nope. Why should I?"

"What if I lied about who I am. Or wrote the wrong name."

He sneered in the way only preadolescent boys could, "it would be really pathetic if you forgot your own name. Here, take your letter."

The envelope was a bright pink, accessorized with little stickers that resembled umbrellas, mushrooms and little golden boxes. On the front her name had been written out sweetly and simply, each curlicue ending in a tiny dark pink heart. The sender addressed herself as Princess Peach, however, in letters as ornate as the ones Vanellope had just used. Beside the title a tiny castle had been placed, as though it was supposed to mean something to her.

Funny. The sender was right there, and yet he'd still said that he didn't know whom it was from. Shaking her head, she used a conveniently placed piece of sharp peanut brittle to slice it open. The card within was just as saccharine, the lettering embossed in gold this time around.

"You are cordially invited to…blah blah blah…annual Princess Party…blah blah…in your honor…allowed one female guest," well, it seemed straightforward enough. Even if she couldn't help but second guess the matter—had they really sent it to the right address, she still wondered? Pondering what it would take to bribe Calhoun into going with her, for the hilarity of the situation if nothing else, the little dark haired minx slipped the invite back within its now-ripped seal. Across from her the delivery boy had dropped some of his animosity in exchange for curiosity, and had even tipped his hat back slightly to scratch at his forehead.

"What are you looking at, bacon breath?" Vanellope demanded tartly, already past her point of patience with the brat.

He didn't answer for a moment, then seemed to muster up enough rational thought to ask, "you're that new, hidden Princess, aren't you? The one that Turbo gypped."

"It's _President_, pedals for brains," she grimaced at the name of her usurper, "and yeah, what of it?"

"Nothing, you just don't look much like a Princess," he remarked bluntly.

"And you don't look much like a deliveryboy! Or a…a…mailman!" she shouted back. His response was to shrug.

"I'm not. I'm _Paperboy_," he motioned toward his bags, which were emblazoned with the words 'The Daily Sun,' "gaming's been slow so I've been picking up odd jobs to make ends meet. It won't be long until I get unplugged or sold on ebay."

"On Ee-what?" she pulled back, puzzlement taking the wind out of her sails. Especially at his matter-of-fact manner regarding his game's future. How could he be so calm?

"It's a computer thing," he stated in a flat tone, "look, you don't know about them yet since you can't leave your game," he peered at her slightly, and she resisted the urge to smack this blunt game character, "wait, is that what you were trying to do? Leave your game?"

The girl stiffened and rose to her feet, realizing belatedly that she'd remained sitting on the ground, "what's it to you?"

"Well, can't you? Haven't you tried yet?"

"O-of course I have, I-."

"Then what does Game Central Station look like?" his eyebrows rose to meet the edge of his baseball cap and she resisted the urge to throw something at him. Like chocolate mud.

Instead she propped her hands on her hips and scowled, "what's it to you, anyway? You're just a quarter-less game so you're one to talk."

The minute the words were said she realized that she'd gone too far, insulted too much. This wasn't Ralph that she was dealing with, nor even the other Sugar Racers. In fact, it was her first interaction with anyone outside of her newfound friends. And if this was a taste of what future interactions with others was going to consist of, then she might as well rip up Peach's invitation while she was ahead.

In front of her the boy had suddenly turned all business, moving the cap back in front so as to cover his eyes. He tested his pedals, ready to push off. But the Princess—no, _President_-couldn't allow things to end like that.

"Look, Paperboy, I'm sorry. I'm just used to being…tart. I didn't mean…to be mean."

She'd been a bully, plain and simple, and with cold ice cream realization she had an epiphany: she was acting like Taffyta.

She, VanellopeVon Schweetz was acting like her archrival (because, you know, "Mortal Enemy" sounded a tad too Diva-ish).

He just looked away, rubbing one hand against his nose, "it's okay. Not like the first time I've heard it."

The girl just winced all the more. Then rubbed her arm uneasily, "um…what's Game Central Station like, anyway? I've never been able…" she trailed off, waving a hand at the barrier. But he got the general idea, tipping his hat back as he eyed her carefully.

"It's not all that great. Lots of grey and beige," he shrugged like it was no big deal, but she could tell that he was slowly cheering at the idea of knowing about something more than someone else…and being able to share his expertise, "lots of people, though. And you can visit other games, as long as you're careful about it."

"Really?" she responded, with sudden insatiable curiosity and leaning forward in earnest, the two of them forgetting their former animosity, "like what?"

"Weeeell," he drawled, suddenly smiling, "the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles game is rocking because they always have pizza, and the ninjas are tubular too. Marvel vs Capcom is great, but you better not make Wolverine angry! And the food in Burger Time is really good. Only adult characters are allowed in Tappers, though."

Well, that _did_ sound exciting, but…her nose wrinkled, "what's a ninja? Or a wolverine? And I've never even heard of a burger or pizza before."

Paperboy's shock was palpable and he removed his hat entirely to give her a good long look, "seriously? You…you don't know?"

The dark haired ruler shot him a 'Duh' look, courtesy of the 1990's, "well, yeah. I mean, I've kind of been trapped here, so, you know…"

"And besides," she added sweetly, "does this world _look like_ it has any 'normal' food in it?"

He glanced afar off, as though doing so for the first time, and she could see something spark in his eyes. Like a Trick-Or-Treater scamming a rich neighborhood.

"Well, thanks anyway, Paperboy. For the letter," she said with enough suddenness to halt his glazed fixation. Who knew what would happen if she didn't halt his thought process now—like entire forests getting mowed down as soon as her back was turned, all to fill the tummy of her new Hansel-like acquaintance.

He shook himself and nodded back at her, turning his bike around in order to head out. But something stopped him and he soon was halting in order to look over his shoulder, "…you are _going_ to try to leave, right?"

She gaped, frozen, then crossed her arms, "well, yeah."

"'Cause if you chicken out then you wouldn't be much of a Princess."

"_President!_"

"But you are, aren't you?" the question seemed important to him and he pressed his advantage as Vanellope squirmed. For she still wasn't sure yet, today's attempt resulting in something far different than what she'd expected. And what if all the other characters were like _him? _She wasn't sure if she could manage to keep her mouth shut if they were.

When she failed to respond to him Paperboy finally smirked, triumphant, "I dare you."

"What?" she recognized the term, of course, but had had little experience with it. And then there was that mischievous gleam in his eyes to contend with…

"I dare you to go through the barrier…_I triple dog dare you!_"

That was it and there it was, the gauntlet, thrown right at her feet. She'd just been challenged by some snot-nosed teen with more papers than brains, and this time around her honor was on the line.

"Fine," Vanellope gritted out between a clenched smile, fists curled. She would give in this time, but not without a fight, "I'll leave my game and go to Game Central Station. BUT!"

Her addendum was thrown in before he could begin his victory dance and the boy's surprise was as sweet and satisfying as peppermint hot cocoa.

"But only if _you _race _me_ when _we_ get back. You on your bike, me in my Kart."

He blinked back her, dark eyes clouded with confusion, "wait, when _WE_ get back?"

The Ben N Jerry's-sized girl propped her hands on her hips with all the delight of someone who knows that they've won, "you didn't really think that a _President _would go without a guide, now did you? And as for me, I think that you make a perfect minion."

The blank expression on his face slowly morphed into a smile. _Touché_, his grin seemed to say, _touché_.

"Alright, hop on."

There was nary a blink as she somersaulted over, and then her fear was left far behind her, the _whoosh_ of a welcome breeze goading the two racers on. A brief _tzzt_ of energy barred her way for but a mere moment before it, too, fell to her reign of awesomeness.

~/~/~

AN: What's it like to be an eternal kid, I wonder? And one with workaholic tendencies, too? That's what I tried to explore with Paperboy. Who does, in fact, make a cameo appearance in the movie.

By the way, he's illiterate according to canon information. The boy was too obsessed with working to learn (although that was rectified later. A detail which I'm ignoring in this case). Which explains why he doesn't know who sent her the letter, preferring to remember the receiver by name alone, and doesn't double-check Vanellope's signature.

I know that this is a tad…petulant when compared to some of the other Wreck It Ralph stories that I've written. But the goading interaction between two kids that will never grow up (completely) seemed the perfect incentive for her to get over her fear. :) It's the way that kids tend to work, after all. –chuckles-

Also, I wanted to Vanellope to make more friends than just Ralph. The guy's great, of course, but the more the merrier. ^^


End file.
